


the other side of terror

by superfluouskeys



Series: 9 Days of Fic for 900 Followers [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/F, Flirting, Fluff, i can't use ao3 right now typing every tag is a menace hahaa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 04:44:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfluouskeys/pseuds/superfluouskeys
Summary: Hawke would just like everyone to know that she has shown remarkable restraint.  Did she fall in love at first sight with the angry muscly templar lady?  Maybe!  But has she so much as gone near her, so much as glanced in her terrifyingly beautiful direction since her arrival at Skyhold?





	the other side of terror

No one has ever accused Marian Hawke of exercising sound judgement.

Indeed, she tells Varric after a particularly satisfying gulp from her third ale--or is it her fourth?--Hawke would just like everyone to know that she has shown remarkable restraint.  Did she fall in love at first sight with the angry muscly templar lady?  Maybe!  But has she so much as gone near her, so much as--so much as--as glanced in her terrifyingly beautiful direction since her arrival at Skyhold?

"No!"

"Yes!  All the time!"

"Fine, but I haven't gone near her!"

Varric squeezes his eyes closed.  "Thank the Maker for small miracles."

Hawke contemplates her beverage.  "Frankly she scares the shit out of me."

Varric's vain attempt to conceal his amusement is starting to show cracks, but then suddenly Hawke swears he goes a shade paler.

"Hang onto that thought," he says.

"Champion, I had--oh."  Cassandra speaks from over Hawke's shoulder, and Hawke has never noticed how different her tone is when speaking to her than to Varric.  "Hello, Varric," she amends, with no small amount of vitriol.

Cassandra is mad at Varric because Varric tried to protect Hawke.  It's easy to forget now that the world has fallen into such chaos.  Things that mattered before the sky tore open seem distant and unreal most of the time.

"Why, if it isn't the Lady Seeker!" Hawke proclaims, perhaps a bit too brightly.

Cassandra's attention is refocused upon her.  She looks...hesitant.  The tavern is never precisely quiet, but it's also not loud enough to drown out discomfort.

"So!" Hawke continues.  "Uhh...what brings her...illustrious Ladyship to darken the doors of this establishment?" 

She can feel how high and thin her voice sounds.  There was a time when Hawke had never felt so much as a pang of social awkwardness, even when perhaps it might have behooved her.  The last few years on the run have changed all that almost entirely.  These days, every time anyone so much as glances overlong in her direction, Hawke feels like some dreadful monster who's just staggered backwards out of the woods and discovered humankind anew.

Cassandra is saying something, or struggling to.  _I was, that is, I mean_ , and eventually Hawke manages to push her own internal panic far enough aside to process the words being spoken.  "...and it occurred to me that you might be...ah.  Avoiding me."

"What can I say?" Hawke responds long before her brain has caught up with her mouth, in an affected sing-song so piercing it hurts her own ears, "tall women bearing swords leave me a little weak in the knees."

"Maker, Hawke," Varric mutters.  Hawke elbows him, struggles not to hide her face in shame.

Cassandra freezes.  She huffs--tries to scoff, maybe, but she’s…she’s definitely, definitely blushing, and even as Hawke can feel embarrassment radiating off of Varric next to her, even as she would very much like to tell herself to shut up, she knows as well as anyone that, once encouraged, she is incorrigible.

"You do give off quite the foreboding presence, my Lady Seeker," Hawke continues, and she allows her stance to relax ever so slightly.  "And I mean that in the most complimentary way."

"I--it--I don't...you!"

Hawke feels herself smiling.  "But perhaps we can get past all that over a drink."

" _Hawke_ ," Varric practically groans, but it's just as Cassandra nods her hesitant agreement, and Hawke is not to be deterred now.

"Nobody asked you, Varric!" she whispers cheerfully.

"Fine, pardon me!" Varric stands and holds up his hands in defeat.  "Far be it from me to stand in the way of disaster."

"Sorry about him," Hawke says, once he's out of earshot.  "He's still sore that you knocked him around, I think."

Cassandra averts her eyes.  "Yes, I...was meaning to apologize for that."

Hawke waves a hand dismissively, and takes the opportunity to wave down the bartender.  "I'm sure you had your reasons."

Cassandra sits, and Hawke marvels at how different she seems.  She's sure she's never seen even the slightest hesitation in Cassandra before now.  "I don't know.  I don't think it was really about Varric.  And anyway, you're here now."

Hawke looks over, surprised.  "Me?"

Cassandra meets her eyes, and Hawke imagines that the rest of the world dims in comparison.

"You didn't know?  We brought Varric in for questioning looking for you.  I was hoping to convince you to speak at the Conclave."

Now it's Hawke's turn to avert her eyes.  "That wouldn't be the cataclysmic event from which there is only one survivor?"

"Well."

The bartender serves each of them a fresh mug of ale, and Hawke slides Cassandra's in front of her bowed head.  "Come now, don't beat yourself up over little old me," Hawke tries.  When Cassandra doesn't budge, she bumps her shoulder gently.  "What could I have done, anyway?  Even if it was only half true, I'm sure whatever Varric told you made it abundantly clear that I should never have been champion of anything."

This catches Cassandra's attention.  "That's not true at all!  You bested the Arishok in single combat!  You saved your friends and the city!  You--"

Hawke holds up her hands, struggles not to pay much attention to the creeping panic of old memories.  "Most of that--if not all of that--was just a desperate attempt not to die.  I was terrified all the time!  Why, if I were in your position, I'd..." she shakes her head, runs a hand through her hair.  "Aren't you terrified?"

Cassandra contemplates her through slightly narrowed eyes.  It's not exactly an accusatory expression, but Hawke feels distinctly studied.  "No," says Cassandra simply.  "I know my duty."

Hawke lets out a small huff of mirthless laughter and turns her attention to her ale.  "You know something?" she begins, perhaps impulsively.  "I've been telling myself I was avoiding you because you were intimidating, or because of what happened with Varric, but..."  She looks up, allows the rest of the world to dim in comparison to the intensity of Cassandra's hopeful, hesitant gaze.  "I think the truth is that I was afraid of what you'd think of me."

Cassandra frowns, shakes her head.  "You are the Champion of Kirkwall.  A hero.  A legend.  I practically idolized you--"

"Exactly," says Hawke.  "But I'm just..."  She shrugs.  "By comparison I can't help but to be a disappointment."

Cassandra is silent for what feels like a long time.  Hawke tries to avoid lending attention to the sensation of sinking dread by taking an extended sip of her ale.

"I can understand how you feel," says Cassandra at last.

Hawke looks up.  Cassandra is tracing the rim of her glass with her fingers.  She hasn't taken a single sip.

"But your deeds stand, regardless," she continues, nodding slowly.  "There is truth in the legend.  In fact, I..."  She looks up suddenly, wide-eyed, almost frightened.  "I think maybe it's even better that you are who you are," she says.

Hawke's hand finds the back of her neck.  She's fairly certain she can feel herself blushing now, but she can't quite bring herself to care.  "And to think Varric thought this would be a disaster," she remarks with a self-satisfied grin.

Cassandra huffs her displeasure and turns away, but Hawke catches the way she doesn't quite hide her own smile before she draws her ale to her lips at last.


End file.
